


Hornblower's Compass

by Wishfulthinking1979



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Age of Sail, British Empire, Brotherhood, Drama, Epic Bromance, Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishfulthinking1979/pseuds/Wishfulthinking1979
Summary: After the events of retaking the Renown, Horatio needs to find one person.
Relationships: William Bush & Horatio Hornblower
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Hornblower's Compass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morwen_of_gondor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morwen_of_gondor/gifts), [mathmusic8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathmusic8/gifts).



> Well. Here I am over here in this fandom because someone (*coughs--Morwen) grabbed a tow rope to haul me on over.   
> I LOVE Hornblower and have read the books many times, as well as enjoyed the series.   
> I have always had a great weakness for naval stories, particularly those of the British navy, and here we are in the great Age of Sail with these gorgeous tall ships and the brave men who sailed in them.   
> I appreciate Forester's amazing work and who knows? I may write more here.... :D

Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower looked over the battered deck of the Renown. She was injured, this ship, but she would survive, and more importantly, she was still in British hands. 

He was drenched in perspiration and blood that wasn’t his own. Bodies cluttered the deck--wounded, dead, and dying. He could smell the powder from numerous discharged pistols and muskets, as well as the smell of unwashed human and the coppery stench of too much blood, running over Renown’s decks.

“Well done indeed, sir!” smiled Wellard, his face smudged and dirty in the growing dawn and Hornblower allowed himself a small smile in return. 

The boy had acquitted himself very well, and Hornblower would be sure to note that in his report of the incident. 

Buckland had been freed and had barely been able to look Hornblower in the eye, the poor bastard. 

Hornblower was still shuddering in his imagination. It could have happened to him--to be surprised in one’s cot in such a fashion and captured…..

He had merely saluted and given a quiet ‘Aye, sir’ when Buckland had scrambled from the cot with a ‘get out, damn your eyes!’

Currently the acting Captain of the Renown was taking stock of his ship and his crew, and Hornblower was making sure to give him space.

Now that Renown was secure and the prisoners stowed securely below once more, Hornblower had but one thought in mind. His focus on one person who should have been present and wasn’t. 

“Mr. Wellard, any sign of Mr. Bush?”

“No, sir,” the midshipman replied, and there was more sympathy in his tone than Hornblower would have preferred---it meant his face was betraying his anxiety over the fate of his only friend in the world.

_ Had he actually informed Bush that he was his friend? _ _   
  
_

He schooled his features. “Very well, keep looking, Mr. Wellard. It is entirely possible he is elsewhere on board, organizing things.”

“Aye, sir.”

But now Hornblower was feeling slightly sick with the knot of worry in his stomach. Bush would have fought. He felt sorry for Buckland indeed, but he was a different calibre than Lieutenant William Bush. Bush would not be caught in his bed---he would have heard something…

He turned to look down the rows of the dead. Captain Sawyer’s body had been covered and left in the Captain’s cabin out of respect for his rank, poor sod. 

The truth was, Hornblower was a quivering coward. He didn’t want to find Bush’s body. Scorn raced through him.

_ He would do it for you _ , whispered a traitorous little voice in his head. 

Steeling himself, Hornblower moved down the first row of bodies. They would need to get them in canvas soon. This tropical heat would not be kind. On the other hand, they were not far from Port Royal, and they were all keen to deliver their prizes and dispose of the prisoners to the garrison on shore. 

A swarthy Spanish face. A young midshipman who was even more slim than Wellard. A burly British seaman who still managed to look surprised even in death.

And then a cry that chilled his heart.

“This ‘ere’s Mr. Bush, sir. ‘Ere ‘e is!”

He made a mad scramble to cross to starboard, slipping on blood and God knew what else in his desperate haste to reach the voice of the bosun’s mate. Wellard was running over as well, and then Hornblower was on his knees beside a prone body. 

Bush was lying partly on top of his own sword and Horblower could see the dark stains on his back….

Please, Bush, give him a miracle.

And his friend groaned and tried to lift his head from his position, partly on his side, head resting on his arm.

Hornblower cradled his face in his hands tenderly. “Bush! Bush!”

There was too much blood, the other man’s head was lolling in his grasp. “Bush, please, speak to me!”

And at last, Bush cracked his eyes open a bit, the familiar blue squinting at him and he gave a curious little smile before he became utterly limp.

“Mr. Wellard, run tell Dr. Clive to prepare for a patient,” Horblower snapped, and was relieved when he spotted Styles across the way.

“Styles! Help me carry Mr. Bush belowdecks!”

The bluff seaman came immediately, as Hornblower slipped his arms around Bush’s chest and Styles lifted him at the legs.

“It’s going to be all right,” Hornblower panted as they made their awkward way down the ladder. “It’s going to be all right, I promise you.”

“I believe you, sir,” Styles said, the stupid oaf, but Hornblower couldn’t be bothered to explain that he wasn’t speaking to him.

  
  


******

It was too bright.

That was the first thought.

He was terrifically thirsty was the second thought.

Bush wondered if he should be ashamed that his ship came in third in his mind. 

He moved a hand to shield his eyes and found that his arm wasn’t working properly. He tried again. No, still some terrible malfunction, but this time there was an exclamation near his head, and then somehow the brightness was dimmed, and he felt it was safe to open his eyes.

Bush was rewarded by a pair of worried brown eyes looking down at him and then a hand was sliding under his shoulders to lift him slightly and a cup was at his lips.

Hornblower held it steady. Of course he did. Hornblower’s hands held things steady---that’s what they did. Bush drank the water thirstily and then he was laid back against his pillow. He was in his own cabin, Bush realized, in his own cot and the earlier brightness was the lantern that Hornblower must have moved behind him so as not to blind the wounded man.

“The ship….?” Bush asked.

“Secure and sailing for Port Royal,” Hornblower responded immediately. “Mr. Buckland is in command once more.

“And our casualties…?”

“Five dead, fifteen wounded, though you are the worst of the lot. Now, please, Bush, you have only just been moved back to your cabin hours ago after receiving 53 stitches I’m told. Dr. Clive is apparently able to do  _ some  _ things.”

Bush smiled slightly at Hornblower’s contemptuous tone which was in stark contrast to his gentle hands as he straightened the sheet over Bush and then turned to wring out a rag and place it carefully over Bush’s forehead and yes, that felt lovely.

“You a lob lolley now, Horatio?” he murmured, and was rewarded with the indignant snort above him.

“Hardly, Mr. Bush. I’m rubbish with that sort of thing.”

Bush felt he was doing a rather passable job at the moment, but was not feeling strong enough to argue about it. 

“And you, Mr. Hornblower? Are you hiding an injury we should know about?”

“That is an interesting choice of words as I do not  _ hide… _ .”

“You do,” Bush rejoined tiredly, feeling quite sleepy but enjoying this banter too much to succumb yet. “You were quite fearsome, coming over the side like that. I was very pleased to see you, I can tell you.”

He managed to look up in time to catch the unguarded worry and affection that crossed his friend’s face.

“You were still conscious then? I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner.”

“You had to take the ship back, Hornblower, I could wait.”

“You couldn’t, not with that level of blood loss,” the other man responded immediately and Bush heard the ever present guilt.

“You saved the ship and got to me, Horatio, do not upbraid yourself, man.”

Silence while Hornblower dipped the rag again, wrung it out and replaced it.

“Your crew said you fought your way out alone. I wish I could have been at your side, Mr. Bush.”

Bush sighed. “Then we would have been ruined for certain. You were exactly where we needed you in that moment, Mr. Hornblower, and I for one am grateful. No one else could have done it.”

“Ha hmm,” came the familiar sound above him, and he smiled slightly. Hornblower was utter rubbish when it came to praise for his actions and it amused Bush deeply when his friend made that noise as it meant he had nothing to say in response.

He started when Hornblower's large, boney hand rested on his forearm carefully, avoiding the bandaged slash there. Horatio was not one for physical displays of emotion if he could help it.

“I am sure you have other duties than playing nurse maid to me, Horatio,” he said, closing his eyes because they were too heavy.

“I am precisely where I need to be right now, William,” answered the other man. And the security and  _ warmth  _ there allowed Bush to drift peacefully to sleep. 


End file.
